A Little More Love
by HybridAP
Summary: This is just a little something I was wondering and thinking about while reading book 7, and how Ginny might feel after Harry was forced to leave when Voldemort took or the Ministry. It involves canon material Ginny Harry


So yea, this is something I wrote after waking up from a dream about Harry Potter. Been reading the final book again and I just started thinking during those early hours of the day and wondering. I was never really good at doing shorts, but I hope this turned out okay. BTW, I haven't used this account for years, so if anything old still does exist, it is laughable compared to what I know now about writing. Well, I hope you enjoy.

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A Little More Love

It was a rather warm day over the countless fields of Britain. Summer was drawing to a close and people were bustling along the streets to prepare for the next school year. In a rather large field on the edge of a small town sat a house unnoticed by most. Despite its odd and eccentric shape, most people who chose to wander by did not give it a second glance, almost as if they could not see it. Large extensions, boxy rooms on pedestals, and small circular towers poked out sporadically across the structure, as if thrown on randomly in a secret pattern the owner thought beautiful.

Although the wedding of Bill and Fleur Weasley had happened a month prior, the yard of the Burrow still showed signs of the great event. Large scorch marks and holes littered the grass and dirt—remnants of the fierce battle that had arrived so suddenly after the Ministry's downfall. Small torn cloths and broken poles popped up across the battlefield, almost as testament to those who fought and did not fare well. It was lucky that no one had died, for the Dark Lord had not dared risk killing _him_ before he arrived.

A small window sat open halfway up the unnatural house, opening the way for the slight breeze to cool the room. In the glow of the dim candlelight was the silhouette of the sixteen-year-old Ginny Weasley. Her long red hair flew lazily around her head in the cooling wind. A small pink pygmy puff rolled around in the open palm of her hand as a large gold coin, the words _Dumbledore's Army_ along the thin brim, sat in her other clenched hand. Her eyes stared out across the aging battlefield, but hardly took in any of it. She could still see the long vanished tent, high and large as music drifted out across the vast field beyond. She could see the people inside, laughing and dancing in celebration of the new family. And she could still feel the desire she felt that day as she stood on the dance floor, hoping to forget about the dark uncertain future and spend the day with the boy with messy black hair and round glasses.

Ginny sighed and looked across the room. In the corner sat a large trunk, packed to the brim with school supplies. It would be on its way along with her to Hogwarts the next day. It was hard to think that she would be going alone this year, without her brother and friends laughing with her, without _him_ sitting beside her. She felt a pang of sorrow but fought past it. She knew that they couldn't have come, even long before he had told her. It was obvious on the night that Dumbledore died that everything had changed, and the real war had only begun.

Ginny dropped the pygmy puff and held up her wrist. A small golden bracelet hung from it, and swaying on the bracelet were four little charms: a quaffle, two bludgers, and the tiny golden snitch. He had given it to her towards the end of the previous school year, and although she kept it hidden when outside her room she still refused to leave it behind. It was like carrying a bit of him with her wherever she went, to look to for comfort when the times got rough.

Ginny sighed. She wished she was with him, just as she wished every hour of every day since the fateful wedding. She wished she could be there by his side during the dark times, fighting off waves of Death Eaters, helping him find the secrets to destroying Voldemort, or simply laying in his arms beside the fire, just as they had done hidden behind the bushes along the school's lake. Ginny could remember it clearly, the two lying in the soft grass, her body atop his. She could feel his messy hair between her fingers—the hair that refused to stay flat but looked handsome anyways. She could feel his strong chest underneath her gentle fingers. She could feel his hand sliding through her hair as the other caressed her back. And she could feel the soft lips pressed against hers, refusing to let hers free just as much as she didn't want them to be free, as her tongue moved with his in a beautiful and unseen dance.

Ginny had given him joy in those long days and cheered him up despite the dark happenings which lay upon the road ahead. She wished that she could be with him again in these darker times to replenish that hope and joy—to be a light for him in the dark when all other lights go out. But she knew she couldn't. She was only sixteen, and still a year underage. She still had the Ministry's Trace upon her, and would alert the Death Eaters to his position on even the slightest amount of magic. She couldn't put him through that overwhelming risk and make his journey wasted. She would just have to hope that the memories were enough to comfort him as he did what needed to be done, just as they comforted her, and realize that someone was waiting just for him.

Ginny's eyes felt hot, and it was hard to fight past the liquid forming inside this time. She wiped her face on her sleeve, but it was too difficult to keep together as the memories overwhelmed her. She jumped as she heard a soft knock on the door behind her, so loud in the quiet room.

"Ginny, dear?" said Mrs. Weasley's voice. "Are you okay? May I come in?"

The door opened before Ginny could reply and Mrs. Weasley stepped through the threshold. Ginny hastened to regain her composure with as little movement as possible, but she knew her mother had seen some of her frantic movements, especially those involving her eyes. Mrs. Weasley was silent for a moment, as if examining her daughter, before she spoke.

"I'm sorry for bursting in," she said, "but I just wanted to see if you were okay dear. You have been spending a lot of time in your room and haven't talked much and, well, your father and I were just a little worried."

"I'm fine," said Ginny, but she didn't think she sounded too convincing. Mrs. Weasley must have thought the same, for she shut the door behind her and sat next to Ginny on the bed.

"You know, Ginny, if there is anything you need to talk about," said Mrs. Weasley, "anything at all, I'm here to talk to you. These are troubling times, and we are all worried about what is happening. You can tell us anything."

"I'm fine," said Ginny, her voice a little harsh. The sound seemed to strengthen the desire for the tears to escape her eyes, but she did not dare wipe them or even look at her mother. She took a breath and continued in a calmer voice. "I'm…I'm fine," she said." You don't have to worry about anything. As you said, these are troubling times. It should be expected."

They were silent, and Ginny had the feeling she was being studied again by her mother. "Well, if you are sure," said Mrs. Weasley. She wrapped her arm around her daughter in a small hug. "You know where to find us if you need to talk about anything at all. We're here to help you."

Mrs. Weasley moved to get up, but Ginny couldn't hold back the flood any longer. The tears poured down her face as she buried it into her mother's shoulder. Mrs. Weasley wrapped her arms around Ginny and held tight, whispering softly into her daughter's ear.

"It's all right," she said, with an unsaid understanding that only a mother could know. "We miss them too, and we're all worried. But they are doing what they have to and what needs to be done. They know what they are doing out there. They were some of the best in their class. We've always somehow knew it would end like this. But we know they can do it. We know _he_ can do it. You don't have to worry."

Ginny was shaking her head before her mother had finished talking. Her voice was muffled as she spoke. "It's not that," she said. She sat up and looked in her mother's eyes. Although her face was wet and the signs of sorrow could not be clearer, there was a different, more prominent look in her face. It was full of bravery, confidence, and determination. It was the qualities about her that she knew he liked and admired the most.

"I—"

Ginny's voice cracked as she tried to speak. She took a deep breath, and while her voice wavered a little from the tears in her eyes, it was full of a firm certainty.

"I think I love him."

She buried her face back into her mother's shoulders, and Mrs. Weasley comforted her for well into the night. Ginny was unable to see the small tears in Mrs. Weasley's face, but they were not tears of sorrow. As Mrs. Weasley stared out into the darkening battlefield, a small smile sat on her face. She could see the white tent again spread out across the yard, packed with people in chairs as they faced the front. At the front of the tent she could see her daughter in a beautiful dress standing beside a handsome man with black hair that refused to stay flat, round glasses, and a lightning shaped scar on his forehead. Her smile widened a little as she thought how happy Dumbledore would be to know there was a little more love in the world.


End file.
